


This Unforeseen Turn of Events

by orphan_account



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Implied Relationships, Interrogation, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Reunions, War Crimes, World of Warcraft: Legion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “My King, a champion aided in the capture of a Blacktalon agent hunting near Suramar. Soon after, the Black Prince Wrathion was captured.”
Relationships: Wrathion & Anduin Wrynn, Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Kudos: 23





	This Unforeseen Turn of Events

The new king stood in the Keep’s garden, staring up at the night’s sky through an earthly frame of branches. He held his head up, looking up at Argus, which intruded on Azeroth’s tranquility. He clasped his hands behind his back, his hands gripping each other tightly. He mimicked his late father’s posture, best as he could: trying to bear any semblance to the great High King Varian Wrynn. Light knew what his father would do in a time like this.

Trying to keep his sorrows at bay in the presence of others, he fought back the tears that were prickling in his eyes and threatening to spill as he turned back indoors, walking past his guards who soon followed him routinely into the throne room. He refused to look at the highlight of the room, the huge decorated stone chair from which he was expected to rule solidly. He was finished discussing battle tactics and preparations with mages, generals, warchiefs, and champions for the day, now free to chase the sleep he couldn’t achieve. Doubts and insecurities about the Alliance’s future still riddled his mind, hindering his ability to relax in the slightest.

A multitude of guards lined two of the room walls, all standing at attention as he walked in. Anduin could feel all their eyes upon him, watching him, judging him. His eyes were trained on the stone floor, not wanting to look back at the room or the throne. Silently, he continued walking out of the throne room and into his chambers. His guards had stopped following him, standing on either side of his door, as always. Despite facing away from his chambers, it seemed they were always watching, always listening, stripping away the illusion of privacy.

He placed Shalamayne gently on the table, once running his gloved hand over the shiny blade, wishing he was looking up at his father from the court again as he rested the sword across his lap throughout the entire day. He would have given anything to see his father once more, even his own life. With aching, trembling hands, Anduin unhooked the clasps that held his armor in place, peeling off each plate like a reptile shedding its skin. Relief came once the golden armor was no longer weighing him down, and he set each piece on the table next to the magical sword.

He stripped out of his tunic, trousers, and undergarments, removed the band which kept his growing hair out of his face and slipped into the warm bath that had been drawn. The water was still warm, soothing the aches and pains that prickled throughout his body. After wiping away the sweat and dust that had collected on his form, he spent the remainder of his time in the water staring at his reflection; his mind wandered again to the demonic invaders and their threat to Azeroth. He desperately wished he was making the right decisions, listening to the right advice. One wrong move would mean the end, and all who had perished and made sacrifices for the world would have done so in vain.

Stepping out of the bath, which had turned cold, he quickly dried himself and pulled on his night trousers, readying himself for another sleepless night. He climbed into the bed, made for two, and stared out the window at the night sky again. Stormwind was darker and quieter than ever, families huddled together quietly, fearing the future and fearing for the soldiers who were across the world. Burrowing deeper undercovers, he attempted to hide from the ungodly gaze of the Legion’s home.

A hurried knock on the door pulled him from his shallow rest. Irritated, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and untucked himself from the comfortable embrace of the quilts. Once his tired eyes became more alert, he saw that it was still dark out. He worried for a moment that Stormwind was under attack but relaxed upon hearing no belligerent sounds through the window. The knock sounded again before he had a moment to open his mouth.

“Your Majesty,” Shaw’s voice sounded from the other side of the wooden doors. “Your Majesty, it’s urgent.”

“Come in,” He said loud enough for the spymaster to hear. He trusted Shaw sufficiently to allow him into the room, although he was still half asleep and barely clothed. He sat up straight on the edge of the bed as Mathias entered the room. “What is happening, Spymaster Shaw?” He croaked. It was all he could do not to yawn as he spoke.

By some miracle, said spymaster seemed unfazed by the unorthodox business hour. Instead of in his nightclothes, Mathias Shaw was fully dressed in his armored uniform, unlike the novice king before him. Anduin stared expectantly at the spymaster, who seemed to be formulating his thoughts. The look in the rogue’s steely eyes alarmed the king, although no hint of what was occurring was betrayed. “Is something wrong?” Anduin asked, anxiety peaking.

He began to think of all the horrid possibilities. Was the Legion attacking elsewhere in Azeroth? Had their intricate planning been in vain? Were they on their way to Stormwind? Perhaps the Horde was in danger, or they had sided with the Legion? He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he silently pleaded for the man before him to reveal the unspoken emergency.

Thankfully, the spymaster cleared his throat to speak. “My King, one of Darnassus’ champions aided in the capture of a Blacktalon agent hunting near Suramar. A female orcish rogue, clearly unaffiliated with the Horde. Soon after,” Shaw hesitated, licking his lips. Anduin’s mind focused on Mathias’ words; he almost knew what was next to be said. “The Black Prince Wrathion was captured.”

All time seemed to stop. Anduin’s mind stopped comprehending the situation. His heart resumed pounding louder than a war drum in his chest. Wrathion. That bastard was alive...Anduin couldn’t believe his ears. That damned dragon could have shown up any time before Gul’dan set foot on Azeroth: He could have come to the world’s aid against the Legion, just as he insisted he would. He could have returned to Anduin to let him know that he was safe and alive. He could have sent a message...he could have done anything. But of course, after wreaking havoc in Pandaria, he disappeared, giving both the Alliance and the Horde more problems.

“Where is he now?” Anduin all but growled. It became difficult to breathe as memories of Tong’s inn came flooding back to him. The games, the riddles, and the stories told: All the happy memories that he had shut out were now clear as daylight. The secrets shared, and the truths revealed, and various embraces between the two curious princes: it all came back to haunt him. And the despondence he had gone through at Wrathion’s betrayal came surging back at the young king, the despair gnawing at him once again. He clenched his fist at his side, feeling tears of frustration and sadness threatening to form.

“When I received word of this incident, it was said that the dragon and his agent would be transported immediately to Stormwind via a portal. They should be on their way to the stockades as we speak, My King. The Darnassian rogue and the soldiers involved are being collect a reward if you see fit. I apologize for the late hour, but the whereabouts of the black dragon has been of high priority, My King.” Shaw recited, without the hesitation with which he previously had been burdened.

Anduin stood, walking to the wardrobe. “I will be in the throne room in just a moment. I will hear the champion’s words and reward them. After that, I want the dragon brought there. I want to question him.”

Without looking, he could tell Shaw was already back at the door, ready to carry out his orders. He would have his answers. Through his flurry of thoughts and curses towards the Black Prince, Anduin could barely hear the “Yes, Your Majesty” that accompanied Shaw’s footsteps into the hall. He grabbed a tunic and quickly pulled it on, not caring to smooth out any wrinkles. Ignoring the heavy armor, he grabbed Shalamayne off the wooden table and made his way back into the throne room.

• • •

The brave rogue and soldiers all gave their accounts of their struggle with the Blacktalon agent, whom Anduin suspected was Left, and the few events that led to an outstanding capture of the dragon. It had been recounted that the Black Prince was venturing around the Broken Isles for some unknown reason, and one other Blacktalon—Anduin presumed it was Right—had managed to evade capture and disappeared. This knowledge slightly irked Anduin, as he had only just returned to Elwynn from the Broken Shore, where he had recovered his mighty father’s sword. But perhaps, he was just paranoid.

He had each of them paid one hundred gold before dismissing them all. Listening to the same tale told several times was not what had the High King so agitated that his knuckles were white, clutched around Shalamayne’s hilt. In the torch-light room, he had been confident that no one—though there were only a few souls present in the room—would be able to read him clearly, but a reassuring hand on his shoulder from the King of Gilneas suddenly told him otherwise.

As a multitude of footprints sounded, his heart quickened. He suddenly regretted not donning the ceremonial king’s armor once again, feeling quite bare in just trousers and a tunic, despite the late hour. He felt as if all could see his every move, every twitch and gesture. As the footsteps grew closer, he inhaled deeply, starting to hear the clinking of chains accompanying footfalls.

He looked across the room to its entrance, seeing six guards escorting the prisoner into the Keep. Four guards stood around the prisoner, holding the ends of chains which inhibited the criminal’s movements, while one led the way, and one followed the crowd, guarding the rear. The figure in the center of the guards had a hood obscuring his face, but Anduin suspected the hood was meant to hide their identity from any peering eyes, rather than blocking the prisoner’s vision.

The moment the hood was pulled away from the dragon’s face, Anduin’s breath audibly hitched. It was him.

Crimson eyes blinked a few times before adjusting to the torchlight. Silky curls matted down by the hood fell like a frame around a face filled with sharp, familiar features. Dark, smooth skin glowed under the flame light, along with the dark armor, which twinkled slightly. A collar, glowing with some arcane magic, was clamped around the dragon’s neck, likely preventing him from using his own powers to escape. Anduin irritatedly felt underdressed, in his simple tunic and trousers, despite being a king before a wanted criminal. But his position was not enough to alleviate his insecurities, for even the heavy chains draping across the dragon’s lithe form looked like jewelry.

Wrathion’s face and posture were characteristically smug, despite the predicament in which he found himself. He looked around the throne room as if casting judgment towards the lack of guests and furniture. Finally, his glowing eyes set themselves upon the High King, who somehow was clutching the legendary sword tighter, as if his sanity depended on it.

Anduin’s tongue had failed him now, forgetting all the curses and accusations that he practiced in his mind. He was more than relieved to see the dragon breathing before him, but he was feeling too angered and betrayed to voice his thoughts. To the High King’s relief, King Greymane spoke up first.

“Prince Wrathion of the Black Dragonflight, you find yourself a prisoner before the High King of the Alliance, found guilty of crimes against the Peoples of Azeroth. You are obligated to answer any and all questions the High King has for you. 

The room’s attention turned towards the king, taking away the small amount of relief that had been granted to him. Once again, Anduin could feel all eyes upon him, only this time: several pairs were trained upon him. He forced himself to stare at the dragon, not allowing himself to appear as vulnerable as was when he had been recovering from the Divine Bell. His eyes threatened to tear away from Wrathion, but Anduin refused to give the dragon such satisfaction.

As he silently maintained contact with the dragon, his thoughts wandered to Varian Wrynn. What would he have done with the Black Prince, had he been apprehended sooner? A trial, much like Hellscream’s? Plenty of people would have complaints about the dragon’s notorious actions. Perhaps a simple execution? Or would his father consider a pardon, if the dragon was found useful against the Legion? As if to only ebb his growing frustrations, the priest’s mind reminded him that the late King Wrynn was not here as a result of the dragon’s destructive actions.

Aggravated, Anduin slammed the blade of Shalamayne into the stone floor with a loud clang: The sword completely unscathed, but the floor beneath the blow was cracked and now imperfect. “You son of a bitch!" Even Genn flinched at his outburst. "Do you have any idea what your actions have caused? How many lives your actions have cost?” The King quested with a shout. He didn’t bother giving the dragon a chance to speak. He would have to listen. “And you suddenly show up, sneaking around, hardly bothering to offer to help fix what destruction you’ve brought upon us?!”

Unexpectedly, the usually charismatic and talkative dragon said nothing. Whether he didn’t know how to respond or didn’t want to, Anduin didn’t know. The dragon simply stared ahead at the king, as if daring him to yell at him more. Despite his clear inferior position as an imprisoned criminal, the dragon still managed to hold all the power in the interaction. As Anduin realized this, he saw a smirk starting to form on the dragon’s lips.

“You will answer your King’s questions or face harsher punishment!” Greymane threatened. The dragon was unfazed, daring to roll his eyes at the Worgen king. Anduin could hear the other king growling lowly at the dragon’s display of disrespect. He could sense that the older king desire to strike the dragon, but Genn seemed to hold himself back.

“If you will not speak, you will be returned to your cell,” Anduin stated, his voice considerably calmer yet still strict. “You will tell me the reason you were at the Broken Isles.” He watched the dragon merely shrug at the demand. Clenching his teeth, Anduin nodded at the guards, who tugged the dragon back out of the keep. The clinking of the dragon’s chains resumed, irritating the priest further.

He watched the dragon’s back as the hood was roughly put over his head, and he was dragged towards the exit. Curses of great variety were mentally being directed towards the black dragon. “It was nice to see you, Anduin,” He heard the dragon yell back over the clamor, just before they were outside.

The fucking bastard.

• • •

The High King stormed back into his bed chambers as soon as Genn had seemed to calm down. He didn’t wish to risk the Worgen king following the dragon and tearing him to shreds. After King Greymane had retired for the night, the ever-trusted Mathias Shaw assured the king that they would receive answers from the Black Prince.

Those were words that Anduin wished to hear, but they had no reassuring effect on him. After he walked through the throne room’s decorated doors, away from most of the remaining guards’ eyes, his return to bed took an irritated overtone. Once he sealed himself in the comfort of his room, a temper took over once again.

He threw down Shalamayne instead of gently setting it down, the great sword hitting the stone floor with a mighty crash. Anduin winced, staring at the spot which the weapon had initially landed, briefly considering picking it up, but he shook his head and continued his internal rampage. He kicked off his boots, not seeing where they ended up, then sat on his bed with a loud, frustrated obscenity escaping his mouth.

Anduin didn’t quite know why he was so frustrated at the dragon’s out-of-character silence; however, it was only his first night of captivity. Indeed the SI:7 had their ways of extracting information, but concerns still inhabited the young king’s mind, and it seemed that said concerns would barricade his mind from sleep. Perhaps, there was more he needed to know, information that even Shaw himself would not be able to wrench out from the dragon.

An idea formulated in his mind—a foolish, risky idea—a plan that might alleviate some of his vexations. His gaze turned to the doors, and his mind ventured to the guards stationed on the other side as he planned his brief adventure. Anduin tried to weigh the risks that threatened his plan against his desire to explain, but he quickly found himself collecting his boots and a hooded cloak.

Anduin didn’t wish to be accompanied; he knew that the presence of others, particularly guards or spies, could lessen his chances at success. He mentally formed a route through the Dwarven District, Cathedral Square, the Trade District, and their respective canals, as he rummaged through a chest in the corner for a rope with which he could climb. He also grabbed the small silver-lined dagger from the chest for extra measure, knowing many possibilities lurked in the dangerous night. Hopefully, he would have no use for the weapon. Lastly, he picked up his seal to show to the stockade guards, who would doubtlessly question him. With luck, he would be admitted without issue.

He tied one end of the rope to the leg of his heavy study chair, knowing the furnishing would be too large to fall through the window, yet sturdy enough not to snap. He moved the chair close to the window, ensuring the rope reached the ground outside. Miraculously, Anduin was still willowy enough to fit through the opening but strong enough to lower himself safely. After snuffing out the candlelight to feign his retirement for the night, he nimbly slid through the window and climbed down to the ground, the grass meeting his feet with a slight rustle.

As he walked west through the city, a few more worries reached him. It would only take a well-placed assassin or abductor from the Legion—or even from the Horde—to render any explanations from the Black Prince meaningless. Nearly all of Stormwind’s residence strived to hide from the ungodly eyes of the Legion’s home, especially in the night, when the brightness from its fel energy outshone the stars. With the streets and canals devoid of any activity, it was easier for Anduin to listen for any potential attackers.

The Dwarven District was eerily silent and ultimately devoid of life; blacksmiths’ familiar hammering and lights from forges were absent. The king would have expected to hear some armorers making or repairing Alliance soldiers’ equipment, but no construction sounds reached his ears through the silent night.

With no lively clamor ringing through the air, Anduin could hear his heart beating. Every step he took, its volume seemed to increase, as if it were planning to burst from his chest. Anduin stopped for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He leaned against a wall, stabilizing himself, suddenly feeling weak in the knees. For a moment, he considered turning back, waiting to confront the dragon another time.

Seeing Wrathion for the first time in years had fresh planted disbelief and anger in him, but pain and betrayal had returned, a continuation of that flame burning within him since Hellscream’s trial. Connecting the dots in his mind, Anduin knew that Wrathion’s foolish choice then had led Azeroth to where she is now: all the losses and sacrifices could be traced back to Deathwing’s son. However, the pain Anduin was feeling was not related to the loss of his father or anyone else; it was a personal heartbreak he had earned by letting Wrathion into his heart.

Passing the Cathedral, his place of solace, did nothing to assuage his anxieties. The dark chapel lacked its many instructors and members, leaving the large building empty as the void. He thought back to prayers, healings, and blessings shared with the community, the state of contentment distributed among every believing soul. Such events were rare now; only a few souls dared to brave the world beyond their doors. He had taken a longer path towards the Stockades, hoping to feel empowered and comforted as he passed by; instead, the Cathedral’s emptiness sent shivers crawling across his back, and the king began to walk faster.

As he cut south along the canals, the young king realized how few guards were patrolling the streets with a pang in his chest. Typically, at least two guards were stationed by each bridge and perhaps a captain walking back and forth along the paths: however, nearly all able fighters had been sent to confront the demonic threat. So far, Anduin had only seen three guards outside the keep: two by the entrance to the Dwarven District he had passed, and one on his path towards the Trade District.

He swore he could feel this lone guard’s eyes upon his cloaked form. Anduin knew that he looked somewhat suspicious, being the only citizen walking through the city at night with his face obscured from vision by his dark hood. As he walked by, he expected the guard to stop him and question him. However, when he dared to glance at that guard, he saw she was staring up at the sky and its green hue, as if in bewilderment instead of fear.

His short trip around a portion of the quiet trade district’s perimeter came to an end as the mage scent of fresh, lively grass greeted him. Through the dark, quiet night’s air, he could see the illumination of unused portals glowing from the mage tower. Few champions have traveled through to the city to bring news to him, most of them aiding the armies of the Alliance around the Broken Isles. Despite such a low number of guests in Stormwind, none of the rare visitations were so memorable as the recent Darnassian rogue or the mage from Dun Morogh, who had found and delivered his father’s compass.

At last, he was at the Stockades. A pleasant surprise: his feelings of uncertainty left him, displaced by only determination. He strode up to the singular guard by the southern-facing entrance and pulled back his hood to reveal his identity. It only took the guard a second to process who was before him, and he quickly stepped aside, letting the High King pass.

“Wait here for me, please,” Anduin said to the young guard, who had moved to follow him in. The guard stilled, giving the king a short nod, then turning back outward as he was before.

Taking a deep breath, Anduin began to walk down the stairs, the smell of dampness filling his nostrils. He walked down a hall of cells, filled with more people than he has seen in months. Thieves, murderers, and insurgents—most of which he failed to remember their names—jeered at him once they realized who was walking past. Anduin kept walking, undisturbed, as only one prisoner was the subject of his determination and concern.

Finally, he reached the end of the hall, where one more guard was stationed before the last few cells. In one, Anduin swore he could see Left’s familiar features, but she didn’t hold his attention long. He turned to the cell on which the guard’s focus remained, seeing meters of chains around the room leading to one figure sat in the center of the confinement: Wrathion.

• • •

The dragon smiled: a sly, knowing smirk that put the king on edge. The burning scarlet eyes of the dragon illuminated the dark space with an eerie red hue. As he stood before the dragon, all the jeers and shouts coming from the other prisoners seemed to come to a halt, as the captive had stolen the priest’s attention before him.

Despite the discreteness of his delivery, it would seem that the Black Prince had not been spared from aggression: his lower lip was split, and bloodied like his nose, and there appeared to be purple bruises blossoming on the dark skin of his face. His hair had been tousled from the linen hood and possibly yanked by a spiteful guard.

Otherwise, the dragon looked the same. He still had on his dark scaled armor, minus for his weapons. And the collar clamped around his neck still glowed with arcane magic. If the dragon was in discomfort, he was skilled in concealing it. Wrathion changed moved into a more relaxed position. Anduin found it likely that the pompous dragon was deliberately waiting for him to arrive before doing so. The sort of planning matched the ostentatious flare that Wrathion had no shame in displaying for all Azeroth.

“And here before me stands the crowned prince—I mean, King of Stormwind,” The Black Prince drawled sarcastically. “You must pardon my appearance, Your Highness, and the mess. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He sat with his legs stretched out, his pointed shoes aimed at Anduin, leaning on his hands, which were planted on the floor behind him.

Anduin felt himself bare his teeth at the dragon, although his were not nearly as intimidating as the sharp canines hidden behind Wrathion’s upturned lips. “You are going to answer my questions.” He seethed out, enunciating each word carefully. He folded his arms, trying to convey his impatience further, but also hiding his shaking.

The dragon chuckled lightly as if he were not in such a dangerous setting. "Dear Anduin, I am so glad to see that you've certainly become more assertive. Your passiveness would have been a fatal trait as a ruler."

"You think this is a game?" Anduin barked out. "Dammit, you've caused too many problems and deaths, and you weren't even here to aid the world you swore to—"

"I will not be blamed for the Burning Legion's presence on Azeroth," The dragon interrupted swiftly, suddenly standing. He took a step closer to Anduin with every word. "Nor will I be blamed for the related deaths. You believe that it was I who allowed for the Legion to set foot on this world, while I had nothing to do with it. I was deceived and betrayed just as much as you were—"

"Then why did you hide away like a—"

"I did no such thing.” Though anger was intricately laced in his voice, he did not shout as Anduin did. His semi-composure poked at the king. “I was not hiding. I was abandoned beyond the great unknown, on Draenor, left to die by Kariozdormu." Anduin shut his mouth at the reply. He couldn’t think of what to say next. How had he gotten back to Azeroth? Why had he begun to work with the bronze dragon in the first place? Why was he so fucking arrogant?

Wrathion was now standing as close to the king as the bars of the cell would allow. Anduin felt tempted to back up, seeing how the dragon towered over him, but he stood his ground.

The dragon continued in his oddly calm yet intense voice. "He led me to believe that Azeroth would be safe with a stronger leader such as Garrosh Hells—"

Anduin winced at the name, remembering all that had followed. "You shouldn't have trusted him! You should have known—"

"You trusted him all the same. So tell me now, Anduin; I implore you,” He began, taking a step back. “Who was more foolish?"

Anduin, angered, grabbed the dragon's tunic’s lapels and pulled him closer, flush against the bars. The smug dragon only raised an eyebrow at his new position. The clanking of the prince's chains was silent compared to the blood rushing to his ears.

"I was foolish to trust you." He whispered lowly, then gritting his teeth. He was about to say more hurtful things, but behind him, he heard a sudden motion. He turned his head towards the source of the noise, worried that he might see Shaw or one of the Spymaster’s employees there, come to return him to the Keep. Instead, he saw a different familiar face.

Left stood in her cell, which was across from Wrathion’s. Anduin remembered her to have been sitting in the far corner when he first arrived. Now, she stood intimidatingly front and center, reaching for a weapon, but realizing at the same time as the king that she had none.

Instead, she glared dangerously at Anduin, and he stared back, almost bewildered. Anduin could feel Wrathion moving his head, likely shaking his head no, to which the orc raised an eyebrow, puzzled, but backed down. Even when he turned back to the dragon, Anduin could feel her eyes on him.

Feeling a bit wary of the Blacktalon behind him, he released the dragon, who stumbled back a step, but played it off like it never happened. A thought came with a pang to Anduin’s mind: where was the other? He had never seen Left without Right, nor Right without Left—or at least, they were never too far from one another. So, where was the human rogue now?

“Wrathion, where’s Right?” He asked, suddenly, forgetting to filter out the sound of fear in his voice.

“Hmm?” The dragon pretended not to hear. He was leaning against the cell’s bars to Anduin’s right; the chains clamped around his wrists being stretched to their limit.

“Where is Right?” He said, emphasizing each word clearly and carefully enough so that not even the dragon could pretend not to understand.

The dragon chuckled and inspected his claw-like nails. For once, it seemed, his hands were gloved, and Anduin could see his dark, faintly-scarred skin under the red glow of his eyes. “My dear, Anduin. You have grown in many ways. I must admit, I can’t wait to see how else you’ve—"

“Wrathion.” The king hissed, realizing the dragon still thought them on those terms.

The dragon’s head snapped to attention, narrowing his eyes at the king before displaying his signature smirk. “Oh, you know, she’s around.”

“By the Light,” He muttered to himself. The priest exhaled exasperatedly through his nose. He habitually ran a hand through his loose hanging hair. “Why can’t you give me a straight answer?”

The dragon made sure to lock eyes with the king before speaking. He removed his smirk, saying deadpan, “Oh, dear Anduin. You must know that I simply cannot do that.”

There were multiple things Anduin wished to say to the dragon but didn’t, for fear that the dragon would further corrupt their intended meanings. He could sense Left rolling her eyes behind him. Instead of doing the same, he groaned. “Why are you like this?”

“What do you mean? Charismatic?” Wrathion offered with an easygoing smile.

“Difficult,” Anduin replied with a worn-out frown.

“I beg your pardon,” Wrathion said, without begging. “Wasn’t it the crowned Prince of Stormwind who told his many caretakers in Pandaria that happiness and laughter were also effective remedies?”

"That was when we were children; when we were younger. I would have expected you to know that the fate of Azeroth is no joke." He scolded the dragon, rubbing his sleepy eye.

"If you are so suddenly concerned about the fate of Azeroth," The dragon began to question, "Then why are you in my company?"

Anduin was stunned by the dragon's reply. He had expected the dragon to be still planning against the Legion. He expected him to continue to fight and strategize for Azeroth. Instead, he was joking around and acting smug, as if he were no prisoner. He hadn't been so playful in Pandaria until they had grown closer.

"You could be speaking with the otherwise leaders to plan your next move. You could be anywhere else, my dear. You could even be sleeping, for Light's sake. Have you seen yourself lately?" Wrathion rambled on.

At his last statement, Anduin felt a twinge of self-consciousness come to haunt him, as he was still less well-dressed than the dragon.

But what really hit him was the dragon's previous question. Why was he here?

"I could say the same for you," Anduin said, without thinking.

A smile twitched on the dragon's lips. "Ah, so the High King does have jokes," He murmured. Pushing himself off the bars behind him and oddly relishing the sound of the clinking links, he sauntered back towards Anduin. "But, my dear Highness, I do want to know. Why are you here?"

After a long moment of pondering, a truthful answer developed in Anduin's mind, though he dared not to say it aloud: _I missed you._

• • •

Anduin cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from the dragon. He had come here to interrogate the troublesome reptile: to gain any helpful information that would bring triumph over the Burning Legion, much less, survival. His night had begun frustratingly; the irritation augmented by Wrathion’s arrival in the city.

He had been furious seeing the Black Prince escorted into the throne room, smiling defiantly towards predestination and fate, as always. He felt a relapse of pain as the dragon spoke amicably with him as if he hadn’t disappeared for years, right after intentionally releasing the cause of this damned invasion.

“I can’t believe you right now,” The King muttered under his breath. He rolled his eyes and looked up towards the ceiling, futilely seeking guidance from beyond the layers of stone.

“And why is that?” The dragon pondered aloud. “By all means, I am only genuine, if anything: I’d like to know why you have decided to be graced by my presence on this night.”

Behind him, Anduin heard a scoff, likely coming from Left. He pictured her rolling her always-focused eyes as well. Perhaps a sly smile would form on her lips, and she might share an amused glance with her human counterpart.

“And,” Wrathion interrupted before Anduin could open his mouth, “Before you give a rhetoric reply, I would first suspect that you wanted to catch up after all this time. Although, by your posture now, I can tell that isn’t the full truth. So please, indulge me.”

Folding his arms tighter around himself after the other’s comment, Anduin’s eyes returned to the prince. Wrathion held the cage’s bars, his hands on both sides, a few inches away from Anduin’s head. It almost seemed that the dragon was comfortable in here to the king as he moved around with familiarity and without worry. Perhaps the dragon continued to fail to realize his current predicament.

Anduin found himself at a loss for words. Wrathion had no idea what his disappearance and absence had done to him mentally or emotionally. Wrathion, truly his first and only friend—a genuine relationship forged beyond the bounds of diplomacy—simply left him for unattainable ambitions. Had he not been enough? Together, they had learned and laughed and loved, and the dragon had thrown it away for a futile vanquishment. His abrupt departure had left Anduin a shell: unthinking and unfeeling and lost in a void of despair. He had been broken and empty, believing that he was unworthy of love or companionship, as proven by Wrathion’s desertion.

“Wrathion,” He clenched his fists tightly, needing something to grip, while not wishing to display his distress. “You hurt me. You betrayed me.” He watched the glowing red eyes widen, as if in shock by the sincerity of the news. “You left me, and you left, my heart shattered. I had no idea whether you were alive or not, and I spent every day and night praying that you would one day return.”

He caught the smug reply before the dragon spoke: _I’m here now, my dear prince._

His voice cracked as he spoke. “No. This doesn’t count. You weren’t even going to come to me. All the time you had, and you didn’t care. I spent countless hours grieving for you, and the part of me that died with you.”

He paused, taking a shaking breath. He didn’t want to hear the dragon’s voice, so he continued. “It’s too late for your apologies. You can’t revive me. It’s too late. I couldn’t love you again if I tried. I couldn’t love anyone. I can’t trust anyone the same way anymore, just like you suggested from the beginning.” He scoffed at the memory, wiping away tears before they fell. “You broke me, Wrathion.”

It felt almost unfair to burden the dragon with the truth, but Anduin felt a cold warmth upon seeing the pain in Wrathion’s eyes. The prince’s entire posture changed; he was now standing simply before his guest, arms at his sides instead of some artistic pose. For once, it seemed that the dragon’s lips were sealed. Anduin couldn’t help but continue. “Every time my father left for battle, leaving me to wait nearly alone in the keep, I imagined that I had someone to wait beside me. Someone to keep me company as each tedious second ticked by. Someone to help me focus and stay strong, despite the bloodshed surely occurring a world away,” He paused, once again batting moisture away from his eyes. “Someone to assure me that everything would be alright. Every time, I imagined that it was you, holding onto me again, never letting go. I dreamed of it. I prayed for it.”

The tears were rolling freely down his face now, for the Black Prince to see. Anduin avoided eye contact with the ruby-eyed dragon, wanting to convey the rest of his thoughts without distraction.

“But I awoke. Reality returned to me and told me that no one would hold me that way again. No one would be by my side like I wanted you to be. No one else could comfort me, and soon even my dreams faded away, Wrathion. I wish...” He trailed off, thinking about his next words carefully. As he thought, he glanced down at the stone floor and saw a distorted reflection of himself in a small puddle. Once again, he looked a wreck, and the dragon he had previously tried to intimidate could see it clear as day. Wrathion had seen him in so many states: injured, sleeping, angered, conscious, happy, loving, vulnerable...this was no different. Only it was.

“I wish you had trusted me enough to share everything with me. I could have helped you, and perhaps everything would have been different.” He finally said, exhaling a shaky breath. He could think of nothing more to pour out for the dragon, and after the flow of words ended, a stream of tears began their emergence. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at the other.

He hated displaying his emotions to others, not wishing to burden others with his personal woes. He hated how he cried, unceasingly, even beyond the final falling tears. But before Wrathion, Anduin could no longer bring himself to care. There was no part of him that Wrathion had never seen: every part of him—even dignity and strength—had been stripped away, leaving him bare before the Black Prince. To Wrathion, he was nothing new, nothing grand: now an empty, debilitated shell.

“Anduin,” Wrathion’s voice said timidly: so uncharacteristically, it caught the King by surprise. “It was never my intention to hurt you, but I do concede it occurred. I may not know how I hurt you, nor how to mend my mistakes, but I do deeply apologize.”

Still looking downward, Anduin saw the dragon’s hands move forward as if to take his own within them, but they were stopped at the last second by the chains connecting him to the opposite wall. He resisted the desire to step back away from the dragon, despite the cell bars between them.

“I understand how my absence has been interpreted, and I regret this fully. I do not expect forgiveness, but I do wish for an acknowledgment of the true reason for my...disappearance.”

Anduin did not want to forgive the prince. He had had no intention of doing so. But he nodded towards the dragon’s simple request; he accepted the reason for his truancy. He wasn’t sure which hurt more: knowing the truth or not knowing at all. Despite the dragon’s apology, be it genuine or forced, he still loathed Wrathion and his presence. The gaping hole in his heart impossibly managed to ache in his chest, swelling with some sickeningly sweet memories from the Pandarian Continent.

His breath hitched as his tongue raced ahead of his mind. “I forgive you,” He mumbled, a complete lie. He internally cursed himself for saying the emancipating words. Both his heart and mind wanted to scream, _I hate you_ , instead.

Wrathion raised an eyebrow as if he knew what Anduin was truly thinking but didn’t speak of it. Anduin could feel the glow of his unnaturally beautiful eyes scanning his face as they both stood through several tense moments of silence. He could think of nothing more to say; he had already poured his heart out for the dragon. He considered leaving, but a voice in his mind told him not to leave the dragon just yet.

“I have noticed that your limp has substantially lessened,” The dragon offered, clearly trying to steer them towards a conversation.

Before long, both the dragon and the king could be found seated on the stone floor, in the depths of the stockades, talking casually through a row of metal bars.

• • •

The light of dawn shone upon Anduin’s face from above, coaxing him awake. The discomfort of a metal bar between his shoulders forced him to move. He had fallen asleep sitting up against the cell barrier, his aching form realized. He looked up at the ceiling, where beams of light poked through small holes through which the elements had tunneled.

He startled, realizing he had fallen asleep in the dungeon and hadn’t told anyone where he was going the night before. If he didn’t return soon, a panic begun by Genn might spread. Anduin was reluctant to leave, but he figured he would return fairly soon, and he’d work to clear Wrathion’s name, and they could work together against the Legion.

Standing to stretch, he noted how oddly refreshed he felt this morning. He was already reminiscing about the previous night lost in conversation with Wrathion, with a few sly remarks from Left thrown in. He felt happy, reminded only of the best days at Tong’s tavern.

He turned towards where Wrathion sat, only to find no one there.

Frantically, his eyes searched around the cell, finding only the chains which had previously bound him to the walls. He looked across from where he had sat, finding Left gone as well. The cell door was wide, still slowly swinging open…

It might not be too late…

He ran towards the prison entrance, desperately hoping to find Wrathion and stop him before he left him again. Running past rows of many sleeping prisoners, he followed the growing daylight, praying he would reach him in time.

Suddenly, he was struck by an invisible foe. Stunned, he opened his eyes, seeing three pairs of boots before him. He panicked a moment, realizing he couldn’t move from his seated position on the ground. He couldn’t call on the Light, couldn’t call out for help.

One of the figures knelt before him, lifting his head. Anduin calmed, seeing a familiar shade of red through the daze. His vision slowly began to clear, displaying the dragon’s face, complete with an oddly saddened smile.

“Wrathion,” he slowly managed, “Don’t leave...please...don’t leave...”

“I’m sorry, my dear Anduin. I have other business to which I must attend. I’m afraid that I cannot stay much longer.”

“Wait, Wrathion...please not again,” Anduin begged, wishing he could grab hold of the prince’s sleeves, or shoulders, or anything. He could hardly move his little finger an inch. “Please stay…”

“The spell will wear off in a few minutes,” Wrathion stated, drawing back, but not before planting a kiss on Anduin’s brow. He released the king, who slumped back, unable to hold himself up. “Until we next meet, my dear.”

The dragon and his Blacktalons turned, walking away from the king. Anduin could only watch as their leather boots receded from his sight, leaving him alone once again.


End file.
